


A Lost Cause

by dreamsofdramione



Series: Fairest of the Rare's LoveFest 2020 [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Forbidden, Smut, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 11:28:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22849444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofdramione/pseuds/dreamsofdramione
Summary: “You’ve always been drawn to lost causes, Miss Granger.”“It’s Hermione, Remus. We fought a war together, I think you can call me by my given name.” Something in that soft tone just rubs her the wrong way. She is Miss Granger to her other professors, but she doesn’t want to be just that to him.#LF2020 #TeamAphrodite
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Remus Lupin
Series: Fairest of the Rare's LoveFest 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1642516
Comments: 15
Kudos: 190
Collections: Best of Remione, Love Fest 2020





	A Lost Cause

**Author's Note:**

  * For [msmerlin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmerlin/gifts).



> Written for the Fariest of the Rare's LoveFest 2020  
> #TeamAphrodite #LF2020
> 
> Prompt: Hermione x Remus + Student/Teacher + Forbidden Kiss (and them some *wink*) 
> 
> Sorry I couldn't work in the Library, Kait! Hope you love it anyway!

“You’ve always been drawn to lost causes, Miss Granger.”

“It’s Hermione, Remus. We fought a war together, I think you can call me by my given name.” Something in his soft tone just rubs her the wrong way. She is Miss Granger to her other professors, but she doesn’t want to be just that to him. 

“My apologies, Hermione. I meant nothing by it.” There’s a tightness in his voice that she can’t quite decode and the tick of his jaw is equally as puzzling. “All I meant to say was you shouldn’t ponder on my problem any further. It’s a waste of your precious time.”

“Feeling sentimental this evening?” She can’t help but poke just a little because he seems out of sorts and she wants to pry. “You barely talk about your little predicament most of the time. Why dwell tonight?”

“You know as well as I do that the full moon comes every month.” Pouring a hearty helping from the decanter on the vintage cart in the corner, she listens carefully. “Would you like a drink as well?”

She doesn’t typically drink on school nights though legally she’s of age to do as she pleases, but the occasion feels like it calls for it so she nods. Instead of claiming the lumpy chair off to the side, he sinks into the cushion beside her on the couch and she straightens her spine, measuring the mere feet between them with her eyes.

It burns as bit on the first sip but she knows it’ll settle into a light simmer as the drink warms her veins. “So you were saying something about the full moon, and forgive me if I’m mistaken, but isn’t that still nearly two weeks away?”

Remus is halfway through his drink when he nods. They’re practically steeping in the stifling silence and she can feel the tension as though its a physical presence in the room. There’s something about the way he chooses his words carefully, considering every syllable as he speaks. It unnerves her but she isn’t quite sure why.

Hermione wants to say something—anything, really—but she can’t seem to find the right words. 

“What I need you to understand, and forgive me if this is a bit much for a girl of your age...” She wants to huff at the slight but she stays silent, waiting with bated breath for him to continue. “Well, I guess the best way to put it is that I am not simply half man, half wolf, Hermione. I am a man who has a wolf that lives inside of him.” He turns to the side on the shabby sofa in his quarters and with each word, the distance that felt so large just moments before narrows until their knees almost knock together. “That means every second of every hour of every day”—his eyes lock onto hers in a predatory way that sends a shiver up her spine—“I pick up things normal men wouldn’t be able to sense.”

Hermione can feel her pulse beat against her eardrums and she presses her thighs together as he wets his lips. For being the daughter of dentists, she’s been known to notice things others might overlook. His teeth, for instance, while perfectly straight, are sharper than most. They’re slightly off colour, too, but it does little to tamper her mounting attraction. The look in his eyes is almost feral and she wonders if he can hear the way her heart is beating against its cage in her chest.

“And tell me,” she licks her lips and leans forward to set her glass down on the table before settling back in just a few inches closer. “What do you sense from me?” She’s always been brave, but something about that sentence makes her question if it’s truly courage or something more simple like stupidity that spurred her on.

She shouldn’t want this—shouldn’t want him. She shouldn’t dream of clandestine relations with a professor she secret wishes would see her as more than simply a student. 

But she does. 

Oh, how she does. 

And whether it’s his animal instincts picking up on the arousal that’s soaked clear through her knickers or simply his prowess as a far more experienced male, she hopes he knows it, too.

His eyes trail down the curve of her jaw and she watches as they track down the column of her neck, dipping to the low cut of the shirt she carefully chose earlier. They linger on the swell of her bust. Sucking in a breath, she watches his lip turn white under the pressure of those slightly too sharp teeth before his lazy perusal of her form continues.

“I sense…” If she could will him to just speak the words, she would, but she’s always been taught that good things come to those who wait, and when his hand reaches forward and his fingertips slide over her knee, she thinks there’s something to that sentiment. “Merlin, Hermione. What are you doing to me?”

In an instant, he pulls back, pushing off the sofa and swiping his glass from the table. He’s barely dislodged the cork from the crystal decanter when she works up the nerve to take those few shakey steps towards him. 

“Remus,” she whispers, watching the way his spine straightens when she draws closer. “Remus, look at me.”

It takes a few moments, and she’s thrumming with nervous energy, but he finally does. The glass is still on the bar cart and the liquor is still in the bottle but she has his attention now, and she doesn’t intend to waste the opportunity again. 

He’s watching her like she’s something to study, with clear intent clouding his gaze, and she wants this moment more than she’s wanted anything in so long. She’d returned to school for her final year without the threat of war tainting every memory and she’s learned something in the near year separating her from the battle. She’s learned the value of life and living the one she wants, and it's that same resolve that pushes her up on her tiptoes and draws her arms around his neck as she finally, finally presses a kiss against his slightly chapped lips. 

It’s wrong yet right, firm yet soft, and the mix of contradictions creates a potent cocktail that leaves her feeling drunker than any amount of firewhisky ever could. 

He pulls back after a beat, lips swollen and chest heaving with the effort of each breath, and she thinks, for one split second, that he might protest again.

But he doesn’t.

Rough fingers thread through the curls at the nape of her neck and he pulls her flush against him. Unlike any kiss she’s ever had before, his lips are unforgiving in their assault on her reason and his hands move in tandem with the will of his tongue, curling and curving around the shape of her form until he’s cupping her thighs and lifting her up in his arms. 

Hermione has never felt very feminine in the fragile way she does right now. He lifts her with ease and manipulates her legs until they wrap around his hips. The feel of his length nestled against her core draws a low moan out of her throat and she isn’t even aware they’ve moved an inch until her back presses into the bookshelf. 

If she had to choose a singular word to describe his fervor, she thinks it might be feral. Unrestrained and wild with a recklessness like she’s never known, his palms move with purpose as they push her lacy knickers to the side. Her skirt is a little too short and her top is a little too low, easily giving him intimate access. 

Her name sounds like his siren song and he says it again and again, letting the syllables sink into the skin of her neck as he brings her to bliss with his fingers first. Barely even over the shock of her release, she hears the click of his belt buckle and the grind of his zipper as she cups his cheeks and draws his lips back to hers.

That’s how he enters her, in one smooth motion, with his fingers pressing bruises to the curve of her hips and his tongue tasting the unexplored depths of her mouth. They’re connected in every way possible and she can hear the evidence of her arousal as he coaxes her back to the edge of release with rugged snaps of his hips. 

The carnal nature of their coupling is rough in every sense of the word and she’s sure she’ll wear the marks on her skin as a sort of badge for days to come. It gives her a sense of pride, as she sinks her teeth into her shoulder to muffle her shout, to know that he’ll have his own marks, too. She hopes he can feel the skin smart against the texture of his robes as he’s teaching classes. She wants him to remember this— _remember her._

He finds his own end, nestled in her warmth and slick with her essence, and comes with a shout against her temple as his fingers dig deeper into the supple flesh of her hips. 

And just as it began, he pulls away without preamble.

She’s still smoothing her skirt and hoping her hair doesn’t look like a bird’s nest when she hears the clink of his forgotten glass against the decanter of firewhisky. Shame washes over her and she doesn’t quite know what to do.

Should they talk?

Should she stay?

Should she go?

Should— 

“This can’t happen again, Miss Granger.” Wholly unaffected as far as she can tell, he doesn’t even look at her as he tips back the full glass and drinks it down in one gulp.

“I understand,” she whispers, willing the tears stinging her eyes to wait just a few moments for her to escape. “I won’t—”

He whips around and stalks back over to her in a frenzy before stopping just short of where she’s still leaning against the bookcase. This time when he speaks, his voice doesn’t hold even a hint of malice and his eyes give away more than she’s sure he intends. “Don’t mention this to anyone.” 

“I won’t say a word.” 

Seemingly satisfied, he steps into her once more, tracing the curve of her jaw with a calloused finger before pressing it into her lips. Her eyes find his again and he’s looking right at her as she purses her lips in a kiss. When his hand falls away, his lips take the same spot and this kiss is sweet, slow, sensual in a way that feels wholly human. 

Hermione isn’t sure if she’s been with Remus or Moony tonight, but she’s also not sure she cares a whit to find out. After all, he did say earlier they’re one in the same, and she wants to be wanted by them both. 

**Author's Note:**

> I just adore my wonderful alpha [@msmerlin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmerlin/pseuds/msmerlin). Thank you for reading my ramblings! 
> 
> Unbetad so all errors are my own!
> 
> Come find me on tumblr [@dreamsofdramione](https://dreamsofdramione.tumblr.com)!
> 
> THANK YOU ALL for reading! Comments & kudos **always appreciated!**


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